“And it’s not even that late!” I exclaimed satisfied at the task we had accomplished even though daylight was gone inside the forest.
I picked up my bag and checked its contents. When everything was in order, I quickly rummaged inside for the food that Alaric had given me. I took few bites of the bread and cheese and a generously-sized apple and ate it in four bites, giving its core to the horse, only then realising how thirsty I was. I took another one and counted two more that I decided to keep for later. Scared that anything could happen in this forest, I decided not to leave the knife out of my reach and so I tucked it under my belt. I decided the bow was not worth the trouble of repairing, so I left it there and placed my bag on my back. With a quick glance at the map, I stirred Firebreath to start pulling.
At first it seemed as if a piece of the mountain was tied around his back. Only after a couple more attempts, the bear and its foliage-bed started moving, leaving deep marks in the black soil. I rewarded my horse with half of the apple I was eating, glad to be on my way home.
After around six breaks and three hours of arduous pulling toil on behalf of my horse, we finally passed the summit and were slowly descending the other side of the mountain. The pine trees were sparser here and from where I stood in the clearing, I could make out the yellow beams of fire-lights being lit inside the houses of the village.
Sallncoln was in sight and a sense of joy and deliverance filled my being which reduced the fatigue I felt. I couldn’t remember when was the last time, or if it there ever had been one, when I have been away for more than two days. I was desperately eager to reach home and have my grandmother’s hot soup over which I could recount all my achievements.
At least a couple of bowls!
I giggled. The brief and intense moment of excitement made me rejoice. I made sure to share my feelings with Firebreath, offering prolonged caresses and bolstering, flattering words; he certainly deserved plenty of treats and rest once we reached home.
Yet, before I was able to take another step, a silhouetted shape caught my eye. It was standing still at the bottom of the gentle descent on what seemed like a pathway towards the village. I held the horse in place and squinted my eyes.
The shape appeared clearer and it resembled a child, a young boy whose face I could not distinguish in the dull light of dusk.
“Hey, you there!” I yelled, making sure he would hear me.
But no reply came as he seemed to glance in the opposite direction. I decided to leave Firebreath to enjoy a longer and much deserved break and started walking towards the boy. He did not move a muscle and only when I came within a few feet of him, did he turn and look at me.
“Hello there! Are you lost?” I wondered where he could be from, clearly not from Sallncoln.
He didn’t reply. He only wore an immobile odd smile until I caught a brief flinch in his big, round eyes, almost as if looking at something behind my back.
And when I turned around, the face of an old woman was the last thing I saw before exhaustion caught up with me and I fell prey to a long and dreamless sleep.
The Drakonil Order
Lorian
Echoes of distorted voices slowly carried my sleeping mind towards consciousness. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes yet. The invisible hands of an illness were keeping my body locked in the same position, making me feel like I had been battling a week-long fever. And still was.
“I think I used too much juniper on this young lad!” The hoarse voice of a woman, came from far away.
“Oh, so that was what you used on me as well!” A second, younger voice hopped in from the same direction.
“No I didn’t! I knew you were different the moment I laid eyes on you. Everyone knows that chanting does the trick for Iprorims!”
Another failed attempt to open my eyes.
A warm waft of mint and marigold brew made its way inside my nose, persuading me to swallow thirstily, and try once again to open my eyes. It did not come easy with the numbness I was fighting against. My neck felt stiff and all over my back I could feel my muscles sore with pain. The intense aching was comparable to the one when I had to carry potatoes sacks for a day, after my grandmother had decided to plant the tubers instead of autumnal cabbage.
I slowly succeeded in opening my eyes, but was unable to see clearly. Everything was blurred. Through my fogged vision, two faces perched over my body were preoccupied in an animated conversation and did not notice my awakening. I instantly thought that I was using Winterhorn again; the same blurry vision and confused state, one where I couldn’t make out anything from distorted and mingled sounds. Yet there was no handle and no knife when I clenched my hands with revived effort.
“He’s waking up!” A potent and deep voice resounded, giving shape to the small space I was in and covering the chatter of the other two.
It must be one of the voices I heard before! I considered.
I gave up thinking what was real and what wasn’t and slowly pushed my head upwards in the effort to lift myself up.
“Here, take my hand!” An old woman offered me a thin and veiny hand. “Slowly now! You’ll still need a while to recover!”
The young boy’s, surprisingly, strong hand came in aid, supporting my left shoulder and I finally secured a seated position.
With a sequence of slow breaths and repetitive blinks, I felt more restored. Likewise, my sight improved somewhat and from the position I was in, I could see the pair of hands clearer. The wrinkles and the veins on the woman’s skin reminded me of Nana; hands of a hard-working woman, strained, marked and battered by sun, rain, snow and time itself. The realisation made me think with distress how concerned she must be, not knowing anything that had happened. My worry added to the physical discomfort I was in.
In her old age, especially during the last few years, she had often fallen ill with what the village healers called the sadness illness – she needed to avoid excessive efforts and worry. Especially petty concerns and preoccupations. I was certain that she’d be fretting at home, asking one of my two brothers to come and look for me.
The thought gave me no peace and dismay forced words from my mouth, “I have to go to home, soon!”
“Are you sure it was him?” The boy’s face appeared in my vision as he asked the old woman.
“Where am I?” I managed to let out in a dry voice, for the first time able to see the boy’s face.
“You are close to where we found you, young…” the old woman paused, enquiring about my name.
“Lorian, my name is Lorian. Why did you bring me here?”
“Lorian, I hope you are feeling better already, but just in case, let me get you a hot cup of tea!” She lifted herself up avoiding my question.
As soon as she left, the boy approached me and whispered, “This was not of my doing, nor my friend’s. We never agreed to such a deed, though I am pleased to see you are not hurt.”
What was he trying to say? I understood less than half of his rushed words. The idea of a warm tea was more alluring than his mumble.
“Here drink this! It will cure you in no time!” I was offered a mug of scented tea made with spicy herbs I could not distinguish.
My thirst was too fierce to decline and I was too weak to consider if it had been poisoned.
I took small sips and burned the tip of my tongue with each of them. Providentially, as soon as the liquid reached my stomach, the ache and back-stiffness melted away.
The old woman smiled at me and nodded comfortably in what I considered to be more a gesture towards her own satisfaction, rather than the expectations she must’ve had of her own brew.
I keenly finished the entire mug and then asked, “Who are you and why am I here?”
The boy shot an odd look at the old woman and she moved an inch closer to me.
“Have you heard of the Drakonil Order?” she asked with a restrained voice.
A veil of confusion clouded my mind briefly and I struggled to pick up her re
ference at first.
“Only what my grandmother had read to me and my brothers,” I lied, thinking of the lovely blue book that Elmira and I had read at least three times each.
Apparently, she wanted to know more of what I knew, as she said nothing else. I continued, “I believe it was the order that went against this evil wizard, called Fellodour or something similar, because he had stolen an artefact and poisoned all the dragons. He wanted to rule over an empire that once was at peace and lived in harmony. The Order was made of a group of people that did not subdue to his –”
“It is Felduror, not Fellodour!” the old woman snapped. “And it’s quite as you said. Only that from the twenty-three members of the Order only one survived, while the wizard found almost all the stones that could prevent anyone from stopping him achieving his dreams. The Order represented hope and once its members vanished, so did the courage they bore. And most importantly, no one here means you harm!”
The boy nodded at me, his lips curled.
“We found you because of this!” Flat on her palms, my knife was sparkling in the candlelight.
“Winterhorn!” I exclaimed. “What of it? It’s the knife my grandmother gave to me and she has been –”
“Do not fret, young Lorian.” The woman lifted her calloused-hand in the air reassuringly. “Nobody wants to take it from you. What use can we possibly have of a knife that in our hands would merely be cutlery?”
Her face betrayed no emotion, her words however, awoke my curiosity with fervour.
“So you know about the tokens?” I asked, knowing her choice of words implied nothing less.
“All of us here do!” replied the boy.
The suspicious exchange of glances between the two, forced the old woman to say, “You are safe here with us. And honestly, it is only thanks to a fortuitous sequence of events, a happy one I might add, that all of us happened to meet here and now!”
“Yet, I am here against my will on a dusty, rotten-floor heavens know where.” Her warm smile allowed me to find some courage and state my discomfort.
“And I apologise if this has offended you, it was not my intention. If you consider it wise to leave, you are free to do so. Although, if I were you, I’d wait just for a moment longer.”
As much as I wished it, my strength did not allow me to leap to my feet and run. I could only haul myself onto the chair behind me, encouraging them in doing just the same.
We sat at the small table, as distant from each other as it allowed, and for a short moment; all of a sudden I felt I could not breathe properly. The hut was warm but categorically too small for the three of us. The rich, candle scent permeating the air did not help either and I was in desperate need of fresh air.
I stood up with some effort and went towards the door experiencing annoying dizziness. Once at the door, I opened it and propped my shoulder against the jamb, taking a deep breath. With eyes shut I welcomed the cold air scented with fresh snow, and instantly felt refreshed. A few flakes made their way over the threshold as well as on to my face.
The dull sense of sickness vanished away only to leave space for more questions that I had no answers to. The more I tried to focus the more I became confused.
“Feeling refreshed?” The deep voice that I heard before came from closer this time.
I looked at the old woman and the boy. “Did you hear that?” I asked, troubled that it could be a voice inside my head.
“Up here, young master!” the preposterous, deep voice came from above the house.
Propped against the door and with the flickering candle light bouncing in my face, I could not make out anything more than a few inches away from me. So I took few steps, scrutinising the darkness above. I screwed my head around, yet all I could see were patches of symmetrically-arranged stars; patterns of bright specks of light, dancing against a curiously dark-red sky. Though the more I advanced, the redder it became and more lights danced against it, seemingly moving with my steps.
What is this trickery? I thought as I swirled my head around in search of some celestial formation I could recognise.
Though, as I completed a full spin, I hit my forehead against an invisible boulder that knocked me to the ground.
“Ouch!” I patted a hand against my throbbing forehead.
As I looked up, the boulder started moving in an undulating and awkward way that made me feel dizzy. A hissing noise of rubbing and crackling arose from where I stood. I fretfully started dragging myself back towards the hut, heedless of what was happening. It was like the whole world started spinning. The stars were moving in a row now and I was afraid I would return to that delirious state where I could not distinguish what was real and what wasn’t.
“Do not fear, young boy!” The unexpected voice made me emit a broken yelp.
Ten feet from where I was, a pair of burning, snake orange-eyes revealed themselves in the cold of night. For the second time in the same day, unlike never before, I could feel my heart throbbing in my throat. Loud thuds resounded in my ears as I heard blood travelling towards and away from my head through the swollen veins on my temples. Its menacing stance with those burning eyes fixed onto mine, penetrated into my soul and mind and made me completely stop from moving.
A profound, guttural growl compelled me to listen and did not allow space for fretting or distraction. As I stood, the fear subdued and I knew such thing was possible only because it was not real.
Yet, everything seems so real!
The cold of the snow that chilled my being to the very core of my bones and sinews was real enough for me. And definitely real was the raw smell of iron mingled with raw meat that emanated from the vision and invaded around the hut.
The candlelight was not enough and the night was faultlessly allowing it to disguise itself. It forbade me to get a rough estimate about dimension and shape and only allowed me to understand that what I previously perceived to be stars, were actually the being’s hard and shiny scales that sparkled with the light emerging from inside.
Unexpectedly, it coiled towards me, aware it could be seen and inspected. From the mere imagination that I had formed in the darkness, I could see how wrong I had been. Its colour was not dark-blue, it was red; a vivid blood-red colour which once on the move emphasised the ridiculous size of the beast, four times or more than I had initially and misguidedly imagined.
I gulped nervously, but miraculously I was not afraid. The scales that appeared liked fingernails a moment ago were now as big as my palms. His spiked head was almost as wide as our stable back in Sallncoln, and it fashioned three coarse, jagged-horns grown outwards from his skull in an asymmetrical fashion. I gathered they were long enough to hang my long coats on and they would still not touch the ground. A beautiful range of terrifying fangs, protruded sideways from his shut mouth and from where I was, I could swear they were at least as big as my fingers.
“What are you?” Convinced I was in a dream I found the courage to ask.
Hearing the approaching steps of the old woman and the boy encouraged me momentarily.
“Is this thing real, or am I dreaming?” I did not move my eyes from the beast.
They did not answer.
It must be a dream, then.
“Young master!” the creature spoke to me, revealing the crimson red and mauve inside its massive maw and a coarse tongue that moved like a snake.
“They call me Ghaeloden-Three-Horns, and I am not a thing. I am a Drakhahoul.” The beast concluded its sentence with a too-real authoritative growl that shook off the little snow that had settled on my shoulders.
And that was the moment I passed out.
I was woken the next morning by flickers of light dancing on my sleepy face. In the early hours the sun was passing right in front of the small window of the hut and cast its low, tepid rays over the floor, where I happened to find myself lay about. An old, itchy, rough blanket was wrapped around myself and as I moved my head, I realised how bad it smelled. I tried to extricate myself, thou
gh realising how cold it was as a result, only made me change my mind, wrapping the dusty blanket around myself even tighter.
My night had been tormented by images of bat-like-winged beasts. Enormous creatures with sharp fangs and flashing eyes had surrounded me; Drakhahouls. They came in various sizes and shapes; some with horns and some without, some with longer tails and some with spiked backs. Their multi coloured, plated skins sparkled on a burnt and dusty barren landscape where heat distorted the perception of the horizon. I was only too happy when morning arrived and I could wipe the frightful images from my mind.
Though I needed time to get up.
On the opposite side of the door, by the stove, the old woman was crouched, fighting the overnight dead-embers in an attempt to rekindle the fire. When it seemed like her lungs would fail, the fire sprung back to life. She then placed a pot filled with fresh snow on top of the stove, which would most certainly become a hot morning brew.
“Good morning!” she whispered without looking at me, “I am almost done making us breakfast. It won’t be much, but it’s enough to get us started!”
The cornmeal she was browning on the reawakened stove and the boiled eggs, which were dancing between bubbles inside another small pot, made me feel ravenous.
“Good morning!” I replied not clearly remembering why I had slept on the floor.
I cupped my face with both of my hands and started rubbing the sleep away. A shiver made me jolt when the heat escaped my blanket but at least it enabled me to regain some clarity. Everything that adorned the interior of the hut resumed to a square table, two chairs and a small bed, tucked near the stove. Inside of it, hid between multiple blankets of various colours, a boy’s foot was poking out.
A rather long foot for such a short body.
As if disturbed by my thought, the boy lifted himself from under the blankets and yawned widely. In an attempt to cast away the tiredness and remnants of what I hoped had been a restful night, he stretched and twisted his head, massaging his face with his big hands. Tired as I was, I thought I saw four fingers on his hands, though I could not be sure. Yet, as his hands completed his morning routine of face rubbing and eye scratching, two big ears, similar to those of a pig, popped out from under his palms, revealing the wrinkled face of a creature I had never seen before.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 21